It also spoke to their connection.
So, it wasn’t all in his head.It wasn’t only on his side.
It was on hers too.
He put his hand out toward her.“Let’s go.”
It didn’t take real long before she put her hand in his.
He led them through the crowd like he was her bodyguard.
He took some shit along the way from friends andacquaintances about showing and then immediately nabbing the prettiest girlthere.
Jag stopped once through this, when some asshat called her“talent.”
He was instaredownwith theasshat when A put her hand on his back and said, “He’s a douche.Let it go.Idon’t care.Iamtalent and he’s never gonna get that lucky.”
She was right.
Still, Jag gave it a couple more seconds to make his pointbefore he broke contact and kept moving.
Her car was parked at the curb and it was nice.A solidHonda a dad would think his girl was safe in.
She beeped it and he opened the door for her.
“So, you’re, like, a gentleman?”she teased.
“My dad is dead, I was raised by my mom, so yeah.A womanraises you, you got no choice but to learn to treat women right, unless you’rea moron or born a dickhead.”
She kept eye contact with him all the time he said this, butwhen he was done, she looked away.
“A—” he started.
“You know it hasn’t gotten better,” she told the road.
He felt like an imposter.
Because, yeah, he knew that.
But she’d been fourteen (fifteen?) when her mom died.
He’d been three when his dad was gone.
He still said, “It doesn’t get better.You just get used toit.”
She looked back to him and she looked pissed.
Or hurt.
He’d get it when she said, “My dad’s dating someone.”
For her, it was a betrayal.
For him, if his mom got her shit together and started movingon, it’d be a relief.
Which was why he said, “That’s good.”
And now she was definitely pissed.“No, it isn’t.She died,like,yesterday.”
